


Cirque du Freak Oneshots

by Nomiliy



Category: Cirque du Freak | The Saga of Darren Shan - Darren Shan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, M/M, Multi, Romance, Teen Romance, Vampaneze, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-02-26 21:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18725707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomiliy/pseuds/Nomiliy
Summary: A collection of drabbles/one-shots showcasing mainly Steve-centric plots. These short excerpts will span across both the canon storyline and a few other alternate timelines. Expect romance, domestic fluff, angst, adventures in parenting, political treaties, and more!





	1. Ms. Shelob

**Author's Note:**

> This particular drabble is based on some headcanons I had for Steve as a father. I really imagine Steve as a doting father of sorts, mainly because he sees Darius as the final step to his ultimate plan. In a weird way, Steve really does think of killing vampires and flaying Crepsley with his son as a form of bonding.
> 
> Bonus points if you know where Ms. Shelob is from ;3

# Ms. Shelob

* * *

“It’s surprising,” Gannen Harst sighed in a state of mediated shock “how...natural you are with children, my Lord.”

Steve Leonard, Lord of the Vampaneze, general of the impending army that would wipe out all of vampire kind, and inventor of the blood-soaked crossbow bolts _and_ crossbow strapped to his back, was currently playing ‘peekaboo.’ The man who escaped a blazing coffin untouched was currently hiding from a babbling infant behind a stuffed spider.

Gannen had a _difficult_ time understanding his life at the moment. The vampaneze general stood in the middle of a baby blue nursery, his Lord laying on the ground with a toddler and a stuffed animal, and an ajar window that would soon need new lock (again). 

“Where’s daddy, Darius?” Steve cooed, bouncing the spider plushie on its absurdly large, cartoonish legs. “Did creepy, crawly Ms. Shelob eat daddy?” He asked, feigning concern and fear in ill-renditions of modern theatrics. Punctuating these questions were Steve’s fake cries and squeals as the spider ‘ate’ his hand. The Vampaneze Lord writhed in mock pain as the soft fangs danced over his glove.

The infant, Darius, stuffed two fingers into his sodden mouth in reply, perplexed to his father’s screams. Drool dribbled down his chubby forearm, drenching his footie pajamas.

Gannen shuddered, ‘The limitless filth of children…’ he thought to himself.

Darius smiled and gurgled at the spider. He batted at Ms. Shelob’s fuzzy side over and over again with a wet hand.

Steve gave a chittering yelp at each strike and Ms. Shelob spasmed from the force.

Giggles and shrieks ensued. Darius fought with Ms. Shelob, biting at her fuzzy legs and brandishing a flurry of smacks to her thorax.

Ms. Shelob chittered pitifully as the last blow was struck.

With a single smack from his chubby hand, Darius laid the demon spider low.

Ms. Shelob fell to the ground, slain and gurgling her death rattle.

Steve choked low in his throat, much to Darius’s joy. “You’ve slain me, mighty warrior,” he rasped in a strained voice.

“Da!” Darius gurgled.

Steve grinned, scooping his son into his arms and smothering those chubby cheeks in kisses. “That’s my lil’ slayer,” he cooed. “Who’s gonna disembowel giant spiders and ugly vampires, huh?”

Darius grabbed at his father’s face, babbling and drooling spit-bubbles.

“That’s right,” Steve said, “we are! Yes, we are! We’re gonna flay and burn Darren and that Creepy Crepsley, yes we are!”

“My Lord,” Gannen interrupted, “while some part of this is endearing of sorts, we’ve been here long enough. The scouts will wonder where you’ve gone.”

“Fuck’em,” Steve said without any of the sweetness he reserved for Darius. “Annie’s going to be knocked out till morning, and me and Darius have dinner plans.”

“Is it wise to give his mother such strong drugs?” Gannen asked.

Steve waved away the notion. “She’s fine,” he said, “her body’s used to it by now, I bet.”

Steve turned his attention back to his son, pulling a small jar of baby food from his backpack. “And daddy brought AppleMash! None of that nasty pumpkin shit mum likes to feed ya.”

“What’s wrong with pumpkin?”

“He doesn’t like pumpkin,” Steve deadpanned, “duh.”

“How could you possibly know what an infant likes?”

“Cause AppleMash is the shit,” Steve said before taking a spoonful of the baby food for himself.

Gannen lost the will to live at that moment. He settled into the rocking chair, watching his Lord rattle off plans of genocide to a toddler over baby mush.


	2. Babka, Brit Milah, Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darren finds some interesting photos from Steve's infancy. If Steve wasn't so shitty at baking, maybe this whole ordeal would've turned out much differently. And maybe his balls wouldn't hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in what I call the 'reset timeline,' where Darren never steals Madam Octa and thus Steve and Darren live normal, happy lives together. This piece is fluffy, humourous, and explores a bit of Steve's family history, so enjoy!

# Babka, Brit Milah, Oh My! 

* * *

 

“Ms. Leonard,” called Darren from the quaint living room, a family album perched in his hands. “Is this Steve when he was a baby?” He couldn’t help the small ‘coo’ that skipped past his lips as he gazed down at the photo. The infant was tiny, and certainly _not_ happy. Whoever took the photo caught the baby mid-scream, and that somehow made it all the more adorable. The photo would’ve been nearly perfect if not for its poor condition. Yellowed edges revealed years of neglect and cigar smoke. The smell of hand-rolled cigars, courtesy of Steve’s uncle Hiram, accosted Darren’s senses once again. It almost made his eyes water, the smell was so acrid; like sitting across from the rail-thin Jew as he lit one on the menorah when he thought no one was looking.

Sarah Leonard poked her head out from that little pandemonium of a kitchen. Sandy blonde hairs once tucked behind her ears and pinned up in barrettes fell in a frizzled mass. A light dusting of flour crested the strands, along with her cheeks and nose. Even along the hem of her apron and forearm, Darren saw, was a smearing of homemade ganache. Ms. Leonard was never the cleanest of home-cooks, but her babka was otherworldly. And her cheery demeanor (a smile for every burnt pastry and broken dish) was pretty amazing, too.

“Oh, maybe! Let me have a look,” Sarah chirped. She dusted off her lithe hands against one another, dispatching dough remnants and chocolate free-riders to look at the old photo album. She gave a blissful sigh as she scanned the image, running a clean finger over the photo.

A pink baby with shocking blond hair wailed in the photo. Tears welled up in its eyes and rolled down its shiny red, fat cheeks. Its little fingers clamped down like a vice on a tanned, leathery finger that no doubt belonged to uncle Hiram. And the little white gown (strangely similar to a christening gown, Darren thought) with all its ruffles and layers laid bunched up on the baby’s chest as tiny feet kicked their way into a blurry mass.

Totally had to be Steve.

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed in agreement. “He was such a fussy babe, ya’ know. He hated that gown an’ he cried all day,” Sarah remembered in a kind of fond exhaustion. “Poor thing, wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t take it anymore an’ just put him in PJs after the ceremony.”

“What ceremony?” asked Darren.

“Mum!” Steve called from the kitchen, “so I just slam this thing in the oven or...?”

Darren noted the panicked twang in Steve’s gruff voice. He smiled at his boyfriend’s total hopelessness to cooking. He made historically accurate 16th-century crossbows in the basement but could burn cookies just by looking at them.

“No, let it prove, love,” She called back.

“Let it _what_?” Steve asked, walking into the living room with the dish of raw babka in his hands. He apparently needed supervised help to let chocolate bread sit in a proving box.

Darren saw the blond’s eyes fall on the album before going rigid. A beat of silence passed over the living room. Unease seeped from his boyfriend, and Darren feared the bad feelings would taint Ms. Leonard’s delicious baking.

“Mum, what’s that?” Steve finally asked with forced casualness.

“Some old pictures from your brit milah,” Ms. Leonard stated with her hand and Darren’s still caressing the infant Steve in the photo.

“Brit milah? Is that the ceremony you mentioned?”

“Mmm-hmm, you’d know it as a _bris.”_

Like a switch, Steve went into preservation mode. Darren saw the tactical gears roll in his head, calculating the best route for escape and damage minimization. But before he could even grab the album, tell Darren to look away, put down the fucking babka, Ms. Leonard was already going through the entire day.

She flipped through the photos, pointing out numerous people with the little bundle of migraines. “There’s uncle Hiram,” she flipped to a photo of Hiram, younger and with a full head of hair and three cigars in his breast pocket, carrying a fussy Steve. “And here’s the mohel, who performs the bris, and here-” she flipped the page again.

To the left and right of Steve were his parents. Both appeared younger, terrified, and so utterly proud in the photo. Daniel held his son’s left arm down while Sarah managed the right. Though Sarah seemed wholly focused on her son, a motherly hand caressing the infant’s head soothingly, Daniel’s eyes were fixed on a little pair of silver clippers. Steve’s baby gown was gathered up around his neck and chest, and a surprisingly calm air fell over the photo like a prophetic eye of the storm. There were no faded photos or moments of the next very painful process of the bris, but Darren knew _very well what happened next._

Steve clutched his balls with his free hand at the sight of the photo, as if soothing the appendage and saying _Shhh, shhh, it’s over boys, it's over._ “Mum,” he whimpered, “why do you keep these? It’s basically child abuse.”

“Oh, shush, Stephen,” Ms. Leonard gave her son a playful slap to the shoulder. “It was a proud day for me and your father. We told your name to the whole family, uncle Hiram got to be your kvatter before the cancer took him, bubbe Dinah- Is that the babka?!” she cried in the middle of her own explanation. Without another word, she snatched the dish from her son and made a dash for the kitchen.

Darren heard her muttering about ‘under-proving’ and ‘flat, dead babka.’ He gave a hearty chuckle with the photo album still in hand.

Steve gave his boyfriend a disarming side eye, crossing his thick, muscled arms over his pecs in what could only be described as next-level pouting.

“You act like your whole cock was chopped off,” Darren jeered.

“Easy for you to say, you still have your whole dick. _I should fuckin’ know”_ quipped back Steve, moving in closer to the shorter man and resting his hand on the small of Darren’s back.

“I just think you're a giant baby,” Darren replied,  leaning into the touch.

“Fercockt-that shit’s traumatizing as a kid, babe.”

“You were _barely_ a week old, Steve.”

“So?” Steve pouted, his bottom lip jutting out in the most pathetic and cute way. “I get phantom pains just looking at it, like physically _feel_ my dick skin gettin’ ripped off.”

“Awww, poor baby,” Darren cooed, peppering kisses across Steve’s cheek and nose as his arms snaked around the taller man’s shoulders. The trail of soft pecks lead up to his ear, the brunet grazing his teeth across the outer shell. Darren relished the small shiver it sent down Steve’s spine. “I’ll kiss it all better…” he whispered.

Steve gave his boyfriend a fiendish grin, checked the kitchen to make sure his mother was _sufficiently_ occupied, then ushered the toned soccer-player up the stairs with a devilish grip on Darren’s ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thanks for reading. I hope to update weekly with little drabbles, so stick around and enjoy :D
> 
> If you like my stuff or just wanna chat sometime, find me on [ Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bookshirehobbit) and [Ko-Fi <3 ](ko-fi.com/nomiliy)


	3. Gimel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A typical Hanukkah night in the Leonard household. Over a dreidel game, Steve can't help but feel a little curious about his best friend's strange sense of personal space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to stick very strictly to 500 words for this installment. It helped me pare down the chapter and keep what was only needed for the story, I feel. I also really wanted to explore more fluffy moments with Steve and Darren, and I love the idea of Darren being just a little chubby in their early teens.

# Gimel

* * *

 

 

‘Challah dough’ was the first thought in Steve Leonard’s mind. Imprints of a moving waistband braided into soft belly flesh peaked over the top of Darren’s sweatpants as he hunched over their small dreidels and gelt.

“Hay?” Darren asked, fumbling the pronunciation like he did every year.

The blond’s eyes darted back to the wooden dreidel laying on his library copy of _Daemonologie._ A hardcover was more user-friendly for dreidel spinning than carpet. And Steve’s room was nothing but carpet, aside from the few charred patches from lit fireworks underneath the bed. “Yeah, take your half,” Steve said and pushed half the pot of gold-wrapped chocolate coins towards his dark-haired friend.

Darren took his chocolate happily and soft folds rolled up from his waistband again. If not for Steve’s space heater, the shorter teen would’ve never shed his sweater.

That Black Sabbath t-shirt rode high on his love handles, and Steve found himself staring more and more at the pillowy flesh. He wanted to feel the softness beneath his fingers. His friend looked so pliable, so warm, so _inviting._

Darren gave a high squeal and recoiled back from the touch. “Steve,” Darren pushed his shirt back over his tummy as he spoke in a high, pitchy whine “you can’t just grab people like that!” His face grew furiously red, spreading down from his cheeks all the way to his collarbone and chest.

“Why not?” Steve asked, pale blue eyes looking straight into emerald while his hand spun the dreidel. _Nun._  Steve huffed with a pout at having gained no chocolate and his friend’s confused wrath.

“W-well...” the intense gaze, like a leopard seizing up its prey, had Darren scrambling for words. He settled for spinning the dreidel instead: Hay—half the pot again.

“We wrestle all the time,” Steve said before he popped one of the chocolates into his mouth. Another spin: Shin, so Steve forfeited a coin of his own into the pot.

“That’s different,” Darren said, “wrestlin’s just…” He paused again, pursing his lips and chewing on his tongue.

“Can I do it if I have you in a headlock?”

“No!”

Steve gave another huff. Why was Darren so strange about this?

“It’s just… weird?” Darren said, “how would you feel if someone just grabbed you out of nowhere?” He spun the wooden toy again with shaky fingers. Nun—No chocolate.

“Well,” Steve said, holding the top and readying the spin. “If it’s just some rando, then I’d clock’em,” he said with a smirk, “but if it’s you…” he spun the dreidel.

It twisted over the small book cover, slowing to a teeter before landing. Gimel—Jackpot.

“Then I don’t mind,” Steve said with a soft voice.

Darren’s face got even redder. His lips went taut and he wouldn’t look Steve in the eye. “J-just uh, ask next time…” Darren said in a small voice, fidgeting with a gold wrapper and growing redder by the second.

Steve smirked with a question brewing behind his teeth. He even said ‘please’ this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thanks for reading. I hope to update weekly with little drabbles, so stick around and enjoy :D
> 
> If you like my stuff or just wanna chat sometime, find me on [ Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bookshirehobbit) and [Ko-Fi <3 ](ko-fi.com/nomiliy)


	4. Marked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Principal Brian O'Shaughnessy makes a call home to Annie Shan and Steve Leonard regarding their son's recent roughhousing at school. Everything feels quite normal, but he can't shake the unease gripping him when Mr. Leonard arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular scene is set in an alternate timeline (actually, the timeline for my next long fic!) where, through shifting circumstances, Steve is allowed to be a somewhat regular presence in Darius' life. 
> 
> I wanted to experiment with POV and show the strange relationship between Annie and Steve through another person's eyes. But, also, I wanted to play with an unreliable narrator of sorts. Brian can be seen as a somewhat typical creeper, and I really hope that shows in his view of Annie.

# Marked

* * *

 

Principals aren’t paid enough. Really, no one in the education system gets paid enough in Britain. But principals draw the shortest of sticks from that pile.

“You what?!” Ms. Shan bolted up from her seat, knocking the chair back on screeching legs.

“I called his father?” said Principal Brian O'Shaughnessy, though her conviction left him backpedaling. “It’s just routine, Ms. Shan.” The screaming parents, especially mums, were the worst part of his job. No single university course prepares you for a mother’s wrath. But this mum was considerably prettier and younger than most. So maybe the small paycheck and verbal beratement were worth it.

Anne Shan, a beautiful single mum paced back and forth in his private office. His eyes followed the long skirt fluttering around her ankles as she walked. Peach terrycloth slid up and down her slender legs with each step, bucking up and stretching around that well-toned rear. She crossed her arms over her chest, mumbling to herself. A silver cross laid atop her ample cleavage. The milky flesh and silver bounced with each step.

O’Shaughnessy sat behind his desk as the young mother fretted over nothing. ‘She should be more concerned with her nose-breaking son than a non-absent father,’ he thought to himself. Usually, the mums cry and moan about the dads  _not_ being around. Her son, Darius Shan, sat out of sight on a bench for ‘troubled students’ with the two other trouble makers. Well, one other trouble maker, a portly child called Oggy. The other child was currently bleeding buckets out his nose in the nurse's office.

“ _Bullshit,_ ” Mrs. Shan spat, halting her trail.

Principal O’Shaughnessy averted his gaze, certain she didn’t catch his eyes. He sipped from his tea as Ms. Shan spoke.

“If you can’t get a hold of me, then you ring my mum. If you can’t get a hold of her, you ring my dad. If no one answers, _then ring me again_. But never, and I mean never, did I give you permission to get _him-”_

“Easy there, Annie,” interrupted a rather calm, male voice over a clicking doorknob. The accent was distinctly Inner London with thick vowels and a slight German twinge. “I thought Darius was the one starting fights.”  

The color drained from Ms. Shan’s face (Annie, huh?) and she looked ready to leave in that very instant. Instead, without a word to the father of her child, Annie sat down in her chair once more.

Standing in his office was who Principal O'Shaughnessy assumed to be the father, Steve Leonard. He was a tall man with striking blond, nearly white hair. His frame looked rather imposing in the entryway. He wore all black, strangely enough, like he was apart of some secret organization. His black dress shirt looked pressed and clean, with the cuffs rolled up and the collar open. His pants, a relaxed khaki, matched the shade and hugged his lean frame. He didn’t even bother to remove his gloves before walking into the school.

But despite the strangeness of his attire, it was his eyes that struck Principal O’Shaughnessy. Those pale blue spears followed him even when he wasn’t moving. It was like every move, every word, everything he could possibly do Steve already calculated, accounted for and logged into his brain. If Principal O'Shaughnessy didn’t know any better, he would’ve mistaken the father for a mafia goon.

“You must be Mr. Leonard,” he said as he extended a shaky hand for a cordial greeting. “I’m Principal Brian O'Shaughnessy, we chatted for a bit over the phone.”

Steve did not take the hand and offered no greeting. He didn’t even take the seat next to Ms. Shan. He just stood there, glaring. “Why does my kid have a black eye.”

The bluntness struck him. What should've been a questioned was barked out like a command. Principal O’Shaughnessy gaped and floundered with his words for a few mere seconds. Too long a wait for Mr. Leonard, apparently.

“Was it that little butterball out there?” Steve asked, looking back out through the glass window of the office door. “He looks pretty fucked up, too.” There was a hint of pride there, along with a small, unsettling smile.

“That’s his best friend, Augustus,” Annie said, “not that you’d know.”

“Butterb-Oggy, I mean, didn’t hit your son,” Principal O’Shaughnessy said. He’d seen enough domestic rows to know when one was brewing.

“Then who the fuck did,” Mr. Leonard _really_ wasn't one for questions it seemed. Steve stood by the door still, those eyes shifting between seizing up the principal and checking on the boys outside. He rubbed at the leather covering his left palm, his fingers jerky and impatient for a rebuttal.

“God, Steve,” Annie said in an exhausted breath. “Just calm down, please.” She turned to Principal O’Shaughnessy, smoothing out her skirt and holding tight to the cross around her neck. She rolled the silver between her fingers as she said, “Just tell us what happened with Darius.”

“His teacher said that there was a small spat during gym,” Principal O’Shaughnessy began. “Another lad was teasing Oggy. Darius, instead of getting a teacher, started the fight afterward. Your son threw the first punch, and from what the teachers and gym coaches said the other boy just tried to defend himself.”

“By giving my son a black eye,” Annie said. “I agree that Darius should’ve told a teacher, and we will have a stern conversation about that later at home, but I don’t agree with _you_ putting all the blame on my son. Look at poor Oggy,” she gestured towards the door where her son and his friend waited close by. “You call that teasing? Darius didn’t start a fight; he stopped a little bully from hurting his friend.” Her voice grew in pitch and volume as she spoke, even garnering a concerned eye from Steve.

But even in her rage, she was quite stunning. Her shirt had slipped past her lithe shoulder in her commotion, a lacey pink bra-strap edging into O’Shaughnessy’s line of sight.

Principal O’Shaughnessy felt another pair of eyes on him in that instant, ones that tracked his averted gaze. He gave a shaky sigh before putting up his hands to try and calm down Ms. Shan. “That ‘little bully,’" he said with finger quotes for emphasis, “is at the nurse with a possible broken nose.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t beat up other kids, then,” said Mr. Leonard with his eyes firmly on the principal. “Is he getting any kind of detention? Call home?”

“Well, he will be given a warning-"

“Just a warning? My son had to protect some other kid because your teachers are incompetent fucks and then got fucked for it.”

“Mr. Leonard,” he tried to contain the fear bubbling up in his gut. “I understand you're upset, but I really think we should address the severity of the situation. Darius might be suffering from some unresolved anger issues, and I think we all need to work as a team to create the safest environment for him and the other children.”

Steve rolled his eyes and chuckled dryly in his throat. “Nice speech,” he said, “but maybe you should talk to the other kid’s folks. Ya know, the one that bullied a little fat kid then punched _my_ kid? Where the hell are his parents? We can set this straight in-”

Annie seemed to cut through Steve’s ire with a single glance. He backed down as she stood up from her chair. “We should get going,” she said. “It’s getting late and Darius needs to wash up for dinner. And Steve needs to get back to work, hmmm?” she turned to Steve, who only gave a curt nod at the mention.

“Of course, of course,” Principal O’Shaughnessy said, though with a bit of sadness. Pretty, single mums are a rarity. And despite her wrathful, uppity nature and her baby daddy issues, Ms. Shan might be worth it. He bid them both a good day and offered up his appointment times if they wanted to speak further on the matter.

Annie shook his hand gently, and he couldn’t help but marvel at how soft her skin was. He could smell a faint hint of lavender oil to the silky touch beneath his palm. He lingered only a bit longer than he should.

But only a bit.

He retracted his grip immediately when he saw Mr. Leonard remove his glove.

They made brief eye contact before Steve extended his own hand. Feeling proud at possibly winning over the difficult father, the two shared a frim, old-fashioned handshake. Mr. Leonard even patted him on the left cheek and spoke a Yiddish farewell, something O’Shaughnessy figured was customary for Jews.

As they let go, he saw something flash then dissipate in Mr. Leonard’s visage. Like a struck match, it bloomed over the man’s features only to blow out, the smoke its only remainder. A smile, maybe? No, a man like this doesn’t really smile. It was something else, though. His features couldn’t destroy the smoke of a smoldering grin, like watching the Devil smile right into your soul.

Then Steve looked away, and Principal O’Shaugnessey felt the air creep into his lungs again.

“A-Annie,” Principal O'Shaughnessy called, avoiding the gaze of Mr. Leonard like the plague.

She stalled at the doorframe.

Holding the door ajar, Steve merely glanced at the pair. He seemed quite inconvenienced by simply waiting, O'Shaughnessy felt.

But that deserved little mind. When not looking directly at the man, he didn’t seem too daunting. Principal O’Shaughnessy extended Annie his personal card, complete with his phone number. “If you ever want to discuss your son’s anger issues,” his gaze flitted over her breasts one last time, “I’m always here. Or we can even talk outside of my office hours. Perhaps over coffee at Pat’s?”

Annie glanced at Steve, then at the door. She didn’t take the card. “It's Ms. Shan, thank you.” She left the office without another word to O’Shaughnessy.

Steve followed suit.

Principal O’Shaughnessy stood stunted in the doorway watching the family leave.

Steve and Annie found their son on the bench in the waiting room. Annie embraced both her son and Oggy. She seemed to fret over both of them, checking on their bruises in that incessant fashion that all mother’s do. Oggy’s mum was there as well, and she embraced Annie dearly. O’Shaughnessy wasn’t listening particularly close, but he imagined their chattering to concern their little boys’ roughed-up state.

Steve appeared to watch the scene unfold in front of him. Though his eyes followed Darius, and his hands patted the young boy’s shoulders, Principal O’Shaughnessy couldn’t shake this uneasiness.

As the families left, Steve carrying Darius on his shoulders with Annie close by and Oggy with his mum, Principal O’Shaughnessy couldn’t shake feeling jilted. He was a perfect gentleman to Ms. Shan, yet she still refused to discuss anything more with him. She wouldn’t take his card, wouldn’t even give him a second glance as she left with that mafia ex of hers.

It had to be his fault, that Steve fellow. And what a piece of work he was with that devil-may-care attitude, waltzing into _his_ office like the bloody queen herself. For how much of a fuss she put up about the call, they were firmly against him from the get-go. Just another set of parents who thought their perfect little devil-child could do no wrong.

“Principal O’Shaughnessy?” said his assistant, Melinda, from the waiting room. “Do you need a band-aid?” she asked.

Now standing quite confused in the doorway, he gave the young woman a puzzled look.

“It looks like you scratched your own cheek, sir,” Melinda popped open the emergency kit.

Brian O’Shaughnessy touched his left cheek with the pads of his fingers. Faint traces of blood slicked into his winding thumbprint. He used his reflection in the window to his office as a mirror. The uneasiness in his gut intensified, vomit raging up in his throat. Three barely-there cuts marked his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thanks for reading. I hope to update weekly with little drabbles, so stick around and enjoy :D
> 
> If you like my stuff or just wanna chat sometime, find me on [ Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bookshirehobbit).

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Thanks for reading. I hope to update weekly with little drabbles, so stick around and enjoy :D
> 
> If you like my stuff or just wanna chat sometime, find me on [ Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bookshirehobbit)!


End file.
